


Criminal's Cadence

by Durst



Series: Uncrossable Lines [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Ana is tired of your shit McCree you're lucky she loves you, Big Brother McCree, Blackwatch Jesse McCree, Blackwatch Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Eventual loss of limb, Gen, Genji Shimada is a Little Shit, M/M, Overwatch is a family, Papa!Reyes, Un/Semi-important OCs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-08 00:19:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8822110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Durst/pseuds/Durst
Summary: He ain't turnin' a new leaf; just doing the same one different. Right?





	1. Prologue: The Cards will Tell

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Overwatch or any of its characters, nor am I making any profit whatsoever from this work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is literally my first fanfic since the yugioh days of Bakura and Malik. Hopefully I improve as I write this, haha. The Overwatch fandom has honestly given me new life. This game is the only reason I am doing this.
> 
> I won't archive warnings - I'll just put the relevant ones here, at the beginning of each chapter. For this first chapter, there are mentions of animal death, graphic violence (spoiler: it's a gun fight and a beating), and character death.

**Prologue: The Cards Will Tell**

 

"Dude, you seriously gotta listen ta this bag! She's like, mystical or some shit - it's ridiculous!” Leaning forward excitedly, Jesse’s friend Keith rambled about ‘the pretty lady in the tent’. The chair rocked forward with the motion, but somehow managed to keep its balance. Messy black hair not so much; the forward motion threw it into his face. “Seriously, though,” he continued, moving his hair back with thin fingers and an exasperated chuckle, “she’s really something else.” Bright green eyes expressed wonder like an open book.

Jesse rolled his eyes with a smile as he listened to the teen ramble about the town's newest 'psychic.' Sure, he knew the gang they were involved with was superstitious, but he never really realized to what extent. He'd only been in for about two years, and throughout that time he'd done it all: clean ups, deliveries, exchange, murder, you name it. In that short amount of time, Jesse had only once witnessed their leader and some of his flunkies freak out. It was over a tubby black cat that had snuck into their bar through a hole in the wall. She was less than ragged; round, fluffy, and one might even say adorable. It had been almost comical; watching a cold-blooded murderer shout and climb up onto a table to avoid the streak of bad luck he didn't want to receive. Comical anyway, until he shot it and ordered Jesse to throw the body in a river. The teen almost cried as he carried out the job. Almost. The Dusty Skull had since had its walls reinforced with some wood planks to prevent any more unwanted entries.

Leaning back in his chair, balancing precariously on the hind wooden legs but propped up by the pool table in the corner of the bar, the wanna-be cowboy shrugged in response. The new fortune teller in town was sending everyone up into a tizzy. They were practically lined up at her tent, waiting to learn what their lucky numbers were, who they would marry, whether or not they'd live past thirty, or if their spouse had been cheating. He never considered himself superstitious, or into the occult.  Whatever you'd consider that type of thing, but he supposed there was a time for everything. After all, he was an ambitious sixteen year old who knew he was the best shot they had. If he wanted to rise in the ranks despite his age, he needed to blend in as best he could. And he would to the absolute best of his abilities. But not before getting some few choice words out to his only friend.

"Look, Keith, I'm sure you's got a lot to say," Jesse started, waving his hand about as he spoke, "but you know I ain't into that kinda shit. I mean, hell, how's a buncha cards gonna tell me how my life should go? It's impossi-"

He was staunchly interrupted. "Shit Clint, you ain't got no clue what you're talkin' about!" Without warning, Keith reached over and pulled Jesse up off his chair by the side of his vest. Of course, the teen had no choice but to follow. He was bigger than Keith, but he would never take advantage of that. "It's just for shits and giggles anyway. Why not hear what she's gotta say? It won't harm you none."

He and Keith had become fast friends during his time in Deadlock. When you're both out of a home and the gang has something to offer, you take it. Even if it is just a rundown old mansion that had been abandoned for years. Nevermind that you'd only get a single room that you were forced to share with someone else. You make it work, and make it work they did. He didn’t particularly like the guy at first, but that changed when he walked in on him watching some old Disney movies. The rest was history; they spent all their days off work together. Eating food they bought or made in the community kitchen, discussing the merits of old movies and television shows, morning workout routines (Jesse always had to slow down so that Keith could keep up). Even their older tougher housemates made playful jabs at how they were joined at the hip. Sharing personal details was inevitable, and they both found they had a lot more in common.  
  
They were both the same age and both had come from broken homes. Jesse had lost his father to a prostitute in another state; Keith had lost his mother to a nasty drug habit that took her life. However, while Jesse was very into the idea of living in the West (sometimes a bit too much, as was evidenced by his attire: a cowboy hat, tasseled vest, leather boots, and red kerchief), Keith yearned for something a little more exciting. Something out in space perhaps, though to him, anything would be better than constant sweltering heat and endless desert. Both boys had also gone through a sort of test to get in. Jesse had killed his family dog without flinching, and Keith had stolen thousands of dollars worth of pulse guns from his father, the local police chief. For obvious reasons, neither of them were welcome back home anymore. Of course, Jesse had confided in his friend that the second he was alone he'd puked and cried and shook like a leaf when it was over. He'd never tell anyone else. He was stronger than that now, anyway. 

It was with an easy smile that Jesse followed his friend. Rather, it was with an easy smile that he was dragged down the road by the wrist by his friend. It was a short walk to the bright blue tent that had been set up at the edge of town, and a small line of people were waiting by the door. Jesse counted five. Maybe it would be worth the wait.

He decided an hour later as he stood at the door, last in line and waiting to be called in, that it most certainly was  not going to be worth the wait. The teen was hungry, thirsty, and was beginning to get physically antsy, almost as if a scorpion had crawled up his pant leg, tickling on the way up and he was trying to shake it out. The sun hung high in the sky, stretching shadows and illuminating the run-down town to his right and the expansive desert to the left. The only shade offered to him was that of the brim of his hat. He tilted it lower as he looked up into the sky. Not a cloud or bird or plane in sight; just the bright blue of a beautiful day. Though annoyed at waiting, he was happy to be out in his preferred element.

Finally, after another ten minutes, Keith emerged from the tent, eyes glossed over like he was in a trance, and with the goofiest smile on his face. "Oy, Clint, you gotta see her, fer real. Even if she ain't tellin' truths, she sure is a knockout..."

"Alright, alright. I ain't wait around an hour for nothin'. You better be right, Astroboy." With a chuckle, Jesse ruffled the other boy's black hair and stepped into the tent. Keith sat himself down on a bench by the tent to wait for the cowboy.

Keith had definitely been right. The woman sitting in front of him was old enough to be his mother, but she was most certainly gorgeous. Long black hair, tan skin, and a figure to start wars over. The only thing about her that betrayed her age was the beginning of wrinkles by her eyes, obviously from laughter. She wore odd purple clothes that draped off of her shoulders and hips, secured in place by gold metal bands on her upper arms and waist. Gold bangles around her wrists and a gold chain headpiece completed the look. Of course, the thing that had Jesse's full attention was the bizarre mark she had under her left eye.

"Welcome, welcome," she cooed, beckoning him in further and gesturing to the seat in front of her. "Come in and sit, my dear, don't be shy. Sit down at my table, put your mind at ease."

The teen sat at the black velvet-covered table as asked, not knowing how else to respond. He resorted to his default for all pretty girls and women: irresistible charm. "Well shoot, my friend told me you were beautiful, but he didn't do you nearly the justice you deserve." He continued when she gave a giggle in response. Nothing fueled the fire like encouragement. "Jesse's the name, Jesse McCree. At your service." With a winning grin and a tip of the hat, he could tell she was charmed.

"Lovely to meet you, dear. I'm known as the desert rose, but you can call me Ayma." As she introduced herself, Ayma pulled out a deck of cards from under the table, and began to shuffle them absent mindedly. "Why don't you take a little trip into your future with me? I'll look deep into your heart and soul to see the past, the present, and the future as well. The cards, the cards will tell - just pick three." She gave them a quick flourish, showing off their contents briefly, before spreading them out in front of Jesse, waiting for his picks.

"Aw, what the heck," he said, and reached forward to pick his cards. She placed them face down in front of him in the order that he pulled. One for the past, one for the present, and the final for the future.

"Flip your first card for me, dear. Either sideways or from the bottom up. Sideways will reveal it as is, and bottom up will reverse it - either positively or negatively. The position of the cards in my deck is randomized," she explained, gesturing to the face down pack of cards beside her. The backs of the cards themselves were haunting, but appropriate: watercolor ravens in dark blues and purples, stars and constellations painted into their wings, and a cracked earth in their beaks. No matter which end you looked from, the image was the same.

The first card he flipped sideways, revealing the Chariot in reverse. She tutted before going into his reading. "It seems, Jesse, that you have felt weak in the past. Your lack of direction has caused you to fall in with people you shouldn't really be around. Because of this past event, you are also aggressive and quick to anger. I believe you westerners have a phrase for it..? 'The only hell your mama ever raised?' Lost father figure, perhaps. It's something to work on over time."

He could only stare at her, mouth agape. How could she have known? He never talked about his father, he never acknowledged the man, and he certainly didn't go around boasting about how he was from a single parent home. He was halfway out of his chair, about to object, quite loudly, when she held up a hand to silence him. He sat back down like a petulant child, if only because exploding on her would prove that he was indeed quick to anger.

When she told him to flip the second card, he did. Quiet and obedient, but with a glare that betrayed his obvious suspicion. A sideways flip again. This time, the Magician. Upright. She grinned widely, shaking her head with mirth.

"I see you have great talent in what you do, boy. Though I'm surprised you did not pull the two of cups..." She was alluding, of course, to how he was charming and attractive, yet probably single; a mockery of both his attitude and age. "You are resourceful; smarter than those you surround yourself with, even if you play at being otherwise. You're an asset. You have a great power that sleeps within you, and should you concentrate on it, you will do great things in life. It is rare for someone to pull two of the major arcana in a row."

"What can I say, ma'am, except that I'm rarity all on my own." Jesse scooted back in his chair, straightening his back. His thumbs caught the openings of the pockets on his jeans, and a boot-clad foot found its way onto his knee as he relaxed. No one had to spell his talent out for him. It was almost a shame: he felt like it was a waste of a card what with it being so obvious. A deep chuckle rumbled up from his chest before he continued. "I know I'm gonna climb ranks faster 'an a prairie fire with a tailwind."

She gave him a knowing look, eyes darting to the tent entrance just for a second, looking just a little more fierce than she had, eyes alight with a fire that wasn’t there before. He didn't know her at all, but that smirk was certainly out of place. It was over in a moment, but Jesse hadn't missed it. This woman was here for more than just telling fortunes, and he was gonna find out what.

"How much am I gonna owe you after all this, by the by? I know you ain't doing this for free." He tried to sit back and looked relaxed, but his eyes were narrowed now, arms crossed over his chest defensively. His right thumb tapped incessantly on his upper arm; a prevention method for pulling the six-shooter from his side unnecessarily.

"Nonsense, my dear." She waved her hand dismissively. "Honestly, I've already gotten what I've come here for, and after this I'll be packing up and heading out. I figure I can give a freebie. Care to flip your final card?"

"Mighty kind of you, ma'am." He didn't buy it, but he flipped the card nonetheless. From the bottom up, and revealed an upright Seven of Wands.

Ayma hummed, scratching the side of her face in an almost apologetic fashion. "For all your talent, you won't have much in the future. And what little you do have, people will try to take away from you. But as is shown in the card, you will have the high ground, the advantage. If you work hard, take a few steps back, they won't be able to reach you, and you'll end up just fine. You might not have a lot, but what you do have will be worth more than anything you can fathom. They say that a man with nothing to lose is one who will never give in, but that is false, my dear boy." She took his hand in his, and flipped it over, looking at his palm. "A man who stands to lose everything will fight tooth and nail to keep it. You remember that."

"Doesn't sound like a great an' happy life." He frowned, contemplating what she'd said. If he had so much talent, how would he not have more? Not like he believed in all this crap, though. Definitely not.

"You wouldn't think so, but you'd be surprised. One more tidbit," she said, tapping his open palm, "before you go. A quick summation of the things I see here that are in store for your future. You'll be rich in morals, but not so much money. You'll fall in love with someone from a foreign country; very unexpected. And finally, you'll save a man from himself."

Jesse stood up, taking his hand back, and tipped his hat in thanks. "I'll keep that in mind, ma'am, but for what it's worth, I ain't no believer of this kinda stuff."

"Neither was I," she responded, shrugging, completely casual. "Until I realized a fortune I got years ago had come true. Your own energy guides your reading, not mine." She stared at him for a moment, almost as if sizing him up. "Anyway, I think it's about time you left my tent." When he turned to leave, and was nearly out the door, she called out for him to wait. "Jesse. Don't go to the Dusty Skull a week from now, okay?"

The wanna-be cowboy rolled his eyes, ignoring the warning.

 

\---

 

The Dusty Skull was packed. Thugs and grunts of all sizes filled the small bar, even going so far as some of them having to sit on the pool table. But drinks were being served, and so the owner-slash-bartender said nothing. He always made a lot of money on one specific day of the month. He needed it, after all, with three kids and a wife to feed.  
  
The 13th was 'meet day.' Or at least that's what was spread around verbally. The day was different each time. Each month, the Deadlock's second in command would pull all the available members in town and sit them down for a meeting. As much as it could be called one, anyway. It was mostly just an excuse to get drunk, make friends within the gang, and have fun. After all, the more loyal you were to your own, the better you performed with and for them. Of course, despite semi-organizing it, the higher ups never deemed it necessary to attend.  
  
Jesse and Keith sat side by side at the bar, having just ordered a couple of cokes ("I'll let ya sit in here for the purpose of today, but I ain't servin' no kids no alcohol, ya hear?"). Conversation was hard in a room full of roaring rhinos, but they made do.  
  
“How did yesterday go?” Keith asked, gulping down half his drink in one go. “I mean, after my team realized what was going on.” The black-haired teen worked in the intelligence division, whereas Jesse was what they called a dirty janitor; make a mess and clean it up yourself.  
  
A distant look found its way onto Jesse’s face. Yesterday had been hard. “No different ‘an usual, really.” They were supposed to pick up a shipment of automatic weapons at a rest stop on Route 66 from a smaller gang. They were to make an exchange. An hour earlier, the small intelligence division had learned that the retrieval team was going to be double crossed. So they sent their janitor to do the double crossing first. “Went well. I took ‘em all out with some help, and we all got home safe.” The wanna-be cowboy moved a hand to scratch at the hair under his hat. “Well. ‘Cept Dan who got shot in the leg, but he needs some hair put on his chest. The wuss is five years older ‘an me and can barely shoot a gun.” The playful jab was there, but the emotion behind it wasn’t.  
  
Of course, there was more to the story than Jesse was willing to discuss out in public. In truth, he had hesitated. When they got to the point, they found that the other gang had sent a couple of kids his age to do the trade. Seventeen, tops, but he had no choice. When he walked over to hand them the money, he stared a little too long into one of the kid’s eyes, giving himself away. By the time the boy had pulled out his gun, Jesse had rolled to the side to avoid a shot and pulled his own trigger twice. He recalled how both boys lay motionless at his feet. While staring somberly at the two boys, he failed to notice the red dot on his person, indicating a sniper.  
  
Dan had noticed, though. Thankfully, he pushed him out of the way just in time, taking the shot to the back of his thigh in order to rescue Jesse. The teen still believed he deserved to be shot for what he’d done; Dan shouldn’t have saved him.  
  
Feeling the drop in mood, Keith placed a hand on Jesse’s shoulder; an attempt at comfort. Had they been alone, perhaps he would have given him a hug, or knocked their foreheads together, but for now, this was enough. Nothing needed to be said either.  
  
All around them people were yelling at one another jovially, pints clutched in their hands. Jesse could hear snippets of every single conversation if he paid close enough attention: a recent kill, medical issues, chatter about the boss, a scorned woman, a woman who had every right to be scorned, the homeless deadbeats outside... The wanna-be cowboy scoffed; the conversations were always the same...

Maybe it was time to liven things up? Might help him forget yesterday, too.

Keith immediately recognized the new glint in his friend's eye and gave his shoulder a squeeze, attracting his attention. "Whatever you've got planned? It's probably not a good idea, Jesse... We shouldn't even be here. Can we go home?"

Stopping, Jesse turned to look at his friend. The look on his own face was one of utter confusion. "Boy, you ain't called me by my name since you met me. And you been nervous this whole time that we've been here, haven't ya?" Indeed, he had. It had been noticed since they first walked into the bar at Jesse's insistence. His friend's shoulders were hunched, arms crossed over his belly, and his eyes kept bouncing from the door to the floor and back again. On top of that, his leg was moving a mile a minute, and Jesse felt like he’d seen his friend check his phone for the hour at least ten times now. Something was obviously amiss. "What aren't you telling me?"

But his friend was a fortress; lips drawn into a thin line and refusing to make any eye contact. In fact he looked almost… guilty? Jesse could hardly tell ‘cause Keith was never the type for regrets.  
  
Shrugging, the burlier teen stood up from his seat and rolled his shoulders to disengage his friend’s hand. "If ya ain't tellin' me what's up, then ain't nothin' I can do. I came here to have some fun. S’only once a month." He turned and made his way to the middle of the room, shoulders thrown back like he owned the place. He forced the concern away from his expression.  
  
"Alright, boys! ...and ladies," he added, grinning at two of the more lithe grunts beside him with a wink and a grin, "I say we have a contest." Jesse's voice was loud and confident, and rang through the bar. Everyone turned to him, waiting. Silence filled the room.

"How's about we find out who the best shot in the room is, eh?" The idea seemed like a good one. Soon everyone was cheering, offering up ideas on how they could go about putting this so-called test in motion. Keith sighed and remained by the bar. He didn't want to be there, but if his friend was going to be an idiot, he had to stay in his seat and watch. A small smile caught the corner of his mouth as he watched Jesse work the crowd, provoking them into getting louder and louder, even going so far as to claim that anyone who could beat whatever score he reached would get an extra two rounds on him (this was met with an extra bunch of cheers and guffaws).  
  
Keith shook his head, smile full now. He might go so far as to say that in the last two years, the wanna-be cowboy had become synonymous with closest ally, most trusted friend. Family. The thought of him made Keith’s heart swell with a warmth he’d never felt before. Once they left the bar, the teen decided; he was going to tell Jesse he loved him. They already lived together after all, so it wasn’t much of a jump. The black-haired teen looked at the time once more, and then the door. He took a deep breath, building the reservoir of hope within himself. His cheeks hurt, but the goofy smile stayed plastered on his face. He was going to pour his heart out; there was no one he loved more. He was going to- 

 _Taktaktaktaktaktaktak-chichink-taktaktaktaktaktaktak-chichink-_  

The wall to the Dusty Skull had been blown apart by rapid gunfire, blasted drywall creating a pale smokescreen. Some people hit the floor. Some people dove behind tables. Some people hopped behind the bar. Some people weren't so lucky. The silence afterwards only lasted a second, but for Jesse time almost skidded to a halt.  
  
He raised his head up from behind a table and stared as armed men filed into the bar as the dust settled. They all seemed to be wearing the same colors: a veritable army, small in size but ruthless in force. The teen instantly recognized them as members of Overwatch. He paled as he looked around. The edge of the table became slick with cold sweat under his grip. Needles pricked his arms and raised his skin. His people, his friends; sprawled on the floor in puddles of their own blood and piss, bullet holes riddling their bodies. In front of him, one of the invaders pulled Dan close by the collar, and shot him in the mouth without any hesitation when he opened it to protest. The teen threw out a hand to stop it with a shout, but it was too late. Thick red blood came gurgling out in wet bubbles, thick as ribbon, the rest of it spraying Jesse's face through the back of his head.

Panic flowed through him and his stomach sank, flipping on its head as he ducked behind the table again, his pupils constricting. He could feel the blood cooling on his face, pulling his skin: a reminder that he’d never be able to return the favor for Dan. The wanna-be cowboy knew he was shaking. The still bodies around him seemed to stare up at him, whites of their dead eyes begging him to join them, telling him he belonged down there with them. Jesse bit down hard on his own lip, drawing blood, preventing himself being stunned by fear and despair. One thing he learned even before joining Deadlock: if he was in pain, he could move. He crawled over to the bar, keeping his head down so as not to look into the eyes of the fallen. Desperately trying to ignore the blood he was padding through and the sickening wet squelch that came with it, Jesse realized he'd been shot in the shoulder. A black cloud passed his vision as he fought the urge to pass out. Or puke. Or give up. But pain meant he was alive. If he focused on it, he knew he could get out despite the blood pouring down his arm, despite the chill in his bones trying to freeze him in place.  
  
Around him, other members of Deadlock were fighting back, trying hard to drive out the intruders. The world around him rang with the thunderous sound of gunfire and ricocheting bullets. People were yelling at each other and shouting orders but Jesse couldn’t hear any of it. Their words were bombs going off in his head, screaming at him to move.  
  
Two more bodies were flung back on either side of him, one of them being the bar owner. What had he ever done besides show them hospitality and a good time? What would happen to the man’s family? He had only been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Jesse forced himself not to think about it; he had to get out. The teen dropped completely to the floor in hopes of avoiding detection. If he couldn’t get out, then playing dead was his best bet. Directly in front of him, a gruesome sight caught his eyes and guilt kept Jesse tethered motionless to the floor for what seemed like whole minutes.

Keith lay at the bottom of the bar stool he'd been sitting on. The bullet holes were not clean. In fact, Keith looked like he'd been shredded apart and Jesse almost couldn't tell shirt from skin. His own blood pounded in his ears. The teen’s black hair was matted down with blood from a stray headshot, and his eyes remained open; glazed over and shrouded with remnants of a life that could have been. Jesse felt the rage come over him like a white-hot fire, spurring him into motion.  
  
Gunshot wound forgotten, he stood up rapidly, an animalistic snarl ripping itself from his throat, and turned to face the distracted attackers. It was like the world around him moved in slow motion. Invisible targets painted themselves on several heads in the room, getting more precise the more Jesse focused on the hatred he felt for those who had killed his best friend. Those who deserved to die. As heated tears fell down his cheeks and obscured his vision, he pulled the trigger several times, arm moving from target to target. When the world around him returned to normal, six of the enemy group lay dead on the floor.

As he fumbled to reload, something struck the back of his head.

 

\---

 

When Jesse came to, he was sitting in a room in a chair by a table. Dusty stone walls surrounded him on each side, and the metal table in front of him was murky; it obviously hadn’t been cleaned in weeks. He felt like he'd get sick just touching it. He looked around, but it was too dark to see much else - there were obviously no windows in here, and the chill in the air made him feel like he was underground. A low hum hung in the background, likely a generator, and Jesse’s head swam when an acrid smell he couldn’t identify hit his nostrils. But something was missing: the pain in his shoulder. He reached up to touch it to find his hands were loosely cuffed to the table. With a growl he jerked his wrists, rattling the chains that bound them loudly. He felt a small pain in his shoulder. So he hadn't been dreaming.

At the sound of the chains, a bright light illuminated the room, and a girl came in, all in a fuss. Skinny, blonde hair held up in a ponytail, and by the cautious look on her face, Jesse could guess that she was new around here. Her hesitant steps screamed a lack of confidence. Either that or she was scared. Jesse certainly was a sight, all covered in blood and almost none of it his own. The anger in him resurfaced. Damn right she should be scared. Jesse’s blood boiled at the sight of her. This bitch was part of the group that had mercilessly slaughtered everyone who was a part of his life. The group that stole away his best friend’s life before he could live it. He would find out who did it, and they would pay. Dearly.

"Howdy, _beautiful_ ," he spat, voice lacking its usual charm. The acid in his veins had found its way to his tongue. "Whatcha here for, sugar?" His crooked smile was completely disconnected from the glare and hatred in his eyes. His only goal here was to make this woman uncomfortable enough to leave. "How's about you come sit on my lap, huh? Ya gotta be good for _somethin'_ and it don't much look like you belong here so why don't you ju-"

He was forced to stop talking when an open palm connected with the side of his face, making his head snap to the side and reopening the bite on his lip from earlier. The woman at his side bristled angrily, her lack of confidence forgotten. "Fick dich! Maybe next time I won't make sure your wound is alright. Perhaps next time, I won't bother healing it up even slightly before the interrogation." She replied curtly.

Ah, so that's why he was in this room.

"...Sorry, sorry." The blood-splattered teen looked back at her and lowered his gaze once the shock of the smack had worn off. Speaking like that, especially to a lady, wasn’t him. "I'm just tired. And angry. And hungry. Not ta mention covered in friends' blood and handcuffed to a table that screams 'old cum stains.'" Despite his anger, he toned it down considerably. Easier to catch flies with honey than vinegar, after all.

She shook her head and forced herself to chuckle weakly at his anecdote in an attempt to diffuse his anger further. It only served to make Jesse feel more ashamed. She really was pretty as a pie supper. Hair like silk, full pink lips accentuated with gloss, and wide blue eyes set on an angular face. And she seemed young for... a doctor? She had fixed him up after all. Maybe a nurse? He guessed her age to be about eighteen or nineteen, if only judging by how she carried herself and the clothes she wore.  
  
"Not to worry, I understand.” So she said, but her hunched posture and lowered gaze spoke volumes. As did the backwards steps she took. Jesse instantly felt horrible about his previous vitriol. “But don't forget that I will not tolerate your earlier behavior." Without another word, she darted out of the room. If only he could go after her to apologize. He made a mental note to seek her out and do so if he got the chance at all.

Her replacement came in moments later. A tall, sneering man who looked like he was eager to beat a child. He had the same look in his eyes that his mother did when she broke out the wooden spoon, only ten times more intense. He sauntered in, shoulders hunched, hands balled up into fists; wrecking balls on either end of his appendages. His gaunt, pale face reminded him of a horror movie he couldn’t remember the name to. Jesse knew just by looking at him that no matter how much he cooperated he was going to get hit at least once. But he was ready for it. He was always ready for it. Unless it came from a pretty blonde, apparently. He steeled himself, and his expression.

"So, kid," the man started, walking ominously towards the chair Jesse was seated in, "you gonna tell me where I can find your boss or are we gonna do this the fun way?"  
  
Jesse’s response was to laugh whole-heartedly in the man’s face, causing him to scowl and take deep breaths. Making him crack would be all too easy.  
  
“You ain’t serious?” He chuckled, using the length of chain available to raise his arm just enough to wipe away a mock tear. “Friend, I’m a sixteen year old kid you pulled out a bar who did clean up jobs. I ain’t tight with no boss. ‘Sides, even if I was, you think I’d tell your sorry ass? Especially after slaughtering my friends? You got another think coming.”  
  
The man rolled his eyes; he wasn’t falling for anything, even if there was nothing there to gain. “We saw the way you used that gun. No way you’re just in clean ups.” He was obviously the type to believe everyone was trying to pull the wool over his eyes. The wanna-be cowboy only figured that that’s because everyone always did.  
  
Jesse shrugged, lowering his gaze. Not to avoid eye-contact, but to explicitly ignore intimidating looks and annoy the other man. Anything to get a rise out of him. “I’m tellin’ you, you dumb shit. That’s all I was.”  
  
“You’re lying.” Insistence. He could hear the man seething, speaking through clenched teeth. Too easy.  
  
The shackled teen looked up at his interrogator with the biggest, meanest shit-eating grin he could muster from beneath the brim of his hat, split lip glistening in the light. “And you’re ugly.”  
  
In a second, the interrogator was on him, winding his fist back and throwing it into the side of Jesse’s face. It hurt - god did it hurt - but it reminded him that he had the power, that he was the one controlling this situation. It was calming, almost, to be able to predict the situation so well.  
  
“Tell me what I fucking want to know you cocky little shit!” The man drew his arm back again: a threat that would go unheeded even if his knuckles already had blood on them.  
  
“That all ya got?” Jesse asked after the punch, still flashing that irritating grin. He continued to mock him. “You couldn’t hit the floor if ya fell outta bed.”  
  
With an angry snarl, the interrogator threw another punch. This time, though, Jesse saw it coming and was able to move his head to the side, the fist narrowly missing his temple, a small gust of wind knocking his hat to the floor. This only gave the pale monster in front of him something to hold. He took fistfulls of the bloodied teen’s hair and used it as leverage to press his face down into the metal of the table. The caked-on dirt was rough against Jesse’s cheek and Jesse was beginning to think he might not have the upper hand after-all.  
  
The man lowered his face uncomfortably close to Jesse’s causing him to squirm,and whispered menacingly in his ear. “Criminals need to learn their place, I think.” His breath smelt like burnt hamburgers and beer, Jesse noted.  
  
It was then that he felt the tip of a switchblade at his back. Breath quickening and eyes scanning the room over desperately, the youth feared for his life for the second time that day. No longer anything more than a caged animal trying to survive, Jesse twisted in his seat and managed to kick the other between the legs, causing him to disengage.  
  
The interrogator backed away a couple of steps, took a deep breath. He ran a hand through his hair and rolled his shoulders so as to regain some semblance of composition. He stared at the defiant teen before him for only a second before deftly kicking the chair out from under him. Jesse fell to the floor as much as was possible with his hands still attached to the middle of the table. The man in front of him laughed and pocketed the blade.  
  
“You’re pathetic, you know that?” Composure regained, he glanced at the door before kicking Jesse squarely in the stomach, sending him sprawling. With a metallic clang, the piece of scrap holding the chains to the table broke loose, half-releasing the wanna-be cowboy who was now lying on the ground clutching his stomach, groaning in pain. But it wasn’t over. Picked up by the shoulders, Jesse found himself being thrust up against the wall behind him, forced to look into the man’s eyes. He winced both at the piercing pain in his back and at how utterly devoid of emotion this monster’s eyes were.  
  
“You get one more chance to talk,” he hissed, holding up the worn-out teen. Jesse was held high enough that his feet couldn’t reach the ground. But before Jesse could even utter a hint of a response, a large hand closed itself around his throat, cutting off his air supply. Panicked and struggling, squirming like a fish pulled out of water, Jesse tried to push himself up by putting his feet back against the wall, but there was no purchase. Blood seemed to rush to his ears as all sound left him. He clawed desperately at the hand around his neck, breaking skin to no avail.

He looked up at the ceiling in resignation after a second or two more, accepting his fate. The lone lightbulb split into six, and he silently pleaded with them to let death come quicker, to end the pain.  
  
Just as his vision was beginning to go, Jesse felt the floor rush up at him. He’d been dropped. He looked up to see that the door had been busted in (when had the interrogator locked it?), and a menacing-looking man stood in the doorway. He yelled a few things at the interrogator that Jesse hadn’t heard, but his ears were ringing now, and sound slowly returned to him.  
  
“I’ll ask again. What the _fuck_ are you doing, Marcus? This is a god damned child.” Jesse’s savior was dressed head to toe in black. Had he not come in here to save him, the teen would have assumed he was the reaper come for his soul. A light undercut and straight-groomed facial hair paired with two deep scars on the right side of his face only made him look more intimidating. Dark eyes were narrowed at the interrogator, Marcus.  
  
“I ain’t no chi-” Jesse felt the need to interject here, despite having just nearly been killed. He had his pride, after all.  
  
Marcus cut him off, tired of listening to the teen’s voice. “Kid or not, he’s a criminal. He has information.” His voice sounded almost pleading. This new guy was clearly a superior of some sort. Jesse sat himself up slowly with his back against the wall and watched the back-and-forth unfold, stowing information away for later.  
  
“That’s not what Angela told me when she found me. She was watching.” Jesse’s savior was  not budging. He barely even blinked. A mountain that couldn’t be moved.  
  
“Gabe, you gonna believe her over your fucking Lieute-” Gabe. Short for Gabriel, Jesse assumed. He was glad to be able to put names to faces, finally.  
  
“No. I’m going to believe her over a rankless flunkie who needs to get out of my sight. _Now_ ,” Gabriel barked, pointing at the door. The man was livid. Jesse noticed a protruding vein just above his left eye, and the knuckles of his one clenched hand were white from pressure.  
  
Marcus turned around to give the teen one last once-over. He snarled, slits for eyes promising a continuation of their fun another time. He bent down a little so he could talk under his breath; a promise just for Jesse. “I’m not done with you.”  
  
Ever the defiant, Jesse looked up with him with contempt and determination. He wouldn’t be broken, near-death or not. As a response, he sucked on the inside of his mouth for a second before spitting the gathered blood at Marcus’ face. Bullseye.  
  
Marcus stood up, wiped his face, and marched out of the interrogation room without another word.  
  
When he was gone, Gabriel had visibly deflated. Looking a little closer, the teen could see the bags of sleepless nights and light stress wrinkles. He raised a hand to rub tiredly at the bridge of his nose and then ran it up through his hair. From behind himself, likely in the waistband of his pants, the tired man pulled a file with Jesse’s name on it.  
  
“Kid, you don’t have many options right now,” he sighed, finally addressing Jesse. His voice was the slightest bit gravelly, but it had a nice deepness to it that Jesse found oddly comforting. He waved the closed file around as he spoke, as if to say it held a lot.  
  
“No shit.”  
  
“Look, plain and simple, we saw what you did with that gun of yours. You’ve got two choices right now. Choice one, go to jail. You’ll be in for the rest of your life.” Gabriel opened up the file now, looking down to remind himself of the contents. “Right now, you’ve got 10 counts of murder not including today and not including what we don’t know, 3 counts resisting arrest, breaking and entering, theft. I could go on.”  
  
“My second choice?” Jesse knew he had done wrong, but for once, he refused to lower his gaze.  
  
“You join us,” Gabe said simply.  
  
Jesse wasn’t so sure it was as simple as that. He certainly held no trust for anyone in this building. “You just slaughtered what was basically my family.” Even if Gabriel had come in to save him, it could always be a psychological trap.  
  
Gabriel sighed again, and stepped into the room. He picked up the chair, and placed it in front of Jesse. He sat down legs spread, elbows resting on them so his body was hunched. It was as close to the teen’s level as he was willing to get. He looked down at him with remorse in his eyes.  
  
“I heard what happened. Your friend - Keith, was it? - was actually our informant. He wasn’t supposed to be there. He was supposed to be spared in return for the date and location, sent to school, given a better life. Understand: we don’t kill children. Ana said she warned you as best she could, too. But that’s on Overwatch. I’m asking you to join Blackwatch, to work under myself.”  
  
He wasn’t supposed to be there. He had asked Jesse if they could go home. He had said no and left no room for protest. Keith _stayed_ for him. Keith died for _him_ . Jesse was so stunned that he hadn’t felt when the tears began to fall in fat streams down his face. He stared ahead blankly, catatonic, his entire world crumbling around him. His best friend was dead, and he had no one to blame but himself for not listening. For being stubborn. For having pride.  
  
Gabe rubbed the back of his neck. He had no idea how to console older kids. “You’ll be given a room, properly trained for de-escalation, fed, clothed… all in exchange just for helping us.”  
  
Jesse didn’t respond. He should have died twice today. He should be with Keith. Sweet, kind Keith who never wanted to do anything wrong. Keith who couldn’t hurt a fly if he tried. Keith who shouldn’t even have been at the shootout. It should have been himself. Murderous, cocksure Jesse. That’s who should have died instead. He was a monster. With a heart-wrenching sound, he fell in on himself, face buried in his shackled hands.  
  
“If it’s any consolation, Marcus will face severe consequences for his treatment of you, as well as for commanding fire on a closed building without first checking for innocents. He will be-”  
  
But Jesse stopped listening. It was Marcus’ fault for giving the order. The tears stopped and sobs he didn’t realize were leaving his mouth ceased. Something in him switched. He had a name for the true culprit now. He’d get his revenge.  
  
With a sniffle, The teen wiped away his tears and looked up at the apologetic man looking down at him. “I’m in.”  
  
Gabriel extended a hand to help him off the floor. “Welcome to Blackwatch.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanking the two betas I had for this one; Kali and Maili. Motivation is a hell of a drug and you were both hella suppliers. <3
> 
> A good chunk of this chapter took inspiration from Princess and the Frog's score Friends on the Other Side.


	2. Empty Cereal Boxes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You'd think the beginning of a family would start with the parents. In Jesse's case, it begins with a sibling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter include a brief episode of ptsd, and that's pretty much it. 
> 
> Music used for this one includes the Westworld Soundtrack, Tribe Society, Eden, Connor Youngblood, and other random instrumental pieces. I'm totally just listening to the playlist I made for the second fic in the series to motivate me through the first, haha.

It had been three days since Jesse was offered a place in Blackwatch, and Gabriel was beside himself with worry. When he showed the teen to his room down the residential hall, he had thanked Gabriel for the short tour, gone in, and closed himself in his room. He hadn’t come out since. That isn’t to say that Gabe hadn’t tried coaxing him out; he had. With a firm knock and an apologetic voice, he offered training, meeting the members, and food through the closed door, but nothing seemed to work. He had finally given up when Ana had told him to “give the boy some space, numbnuts.”  
  
Jesse, meanwhile, was plotting. He replayed everything in his head, over and over, focusing on the shoot-out, the faces who pulled triggers, the beating, and the exchange that followed. The anger and the hatred that were seared into his veins allowed him to focus on everything but the root of the problem: Keith’s death. The root of the problem that plagued his dreams and kept him from sleep.   
  
Rolling over in bed so his back was to the door, Jesse curled up into a ball and buried his face in his hands. His grip tightened in his hair and he let out a long, suffering sigh. But he kept thinking of revenge, of the reason he was here. He had to, for if he didn’t, he’d be reminded of how he should be the one who’d died. Reminded of the look on Keith’s face, of the bloody mesh of shirt and chest. He’d see it again and again in his mind’s eye, just like he did in his dreams. The sight haunted him, so he’d let the anger consume him like an obsession. He told himself it was the only way he’d get through this.   
  
Before he could sit back up, he heard the door to his room creak open. Light footsteps followed. At least it wasn’t Marcus. But it also wasn’t Angela or Gabriel or the unknown woman who sometimes stood near his door. He’d learned their footfalls by heart already, and they always knocked. He quickly assessed his situation: back to the door, gun under his pillow. He could pull and shoot in a second. Person’s distance from him, three or so feet. Lights were off. His own breathing was slowed. He wouldn’t be caught unaware.   
  
Jesse waited until they were a foot and a half from his bed before he sat up and spun around, levelling his six-shooter at the head of the person who’d walked into his private space. In front of him, a very young girl froze in her tracks, eyes wide, arms rigid at her sides. After a second, she relaxed her shoulders, and raised an eyebrow at the teen.   
  
“You’re going to hurt someone with that,” she said plainly, almost as if she had been in this exact situation before. Jesse wondered, but he wouldn’t ask.   
  
Quickly, he fumbled to move back, putting his gun down on the the bed with a nervous chuckle. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to- What’re you doing here anyway?” He scratched the back of his neck and removed his hat from atop the bedpost, sitting it comfortably on his head.   
  
“Mom said we had a new recruit who wouldn’t come out. Wanted to see for myself.” The dark-skinned girl in front of him reached into the side pocket of her white dress and pulled out an apple. “I brought you some food,” she chirped, tossing it at his face. Had he not reached up to grab it, it would have been a bullseye. She had a good arm for a kid.   
  
“Oh.. thanks.” He looked down at the apple in his hands with a sad look. He still didn’t feel all that hungry, though he knew he should eat. “You shouldn’t sneak in on people like that,” Jesse offered, looking back at her pointedly.   
  
“And you shouldn’t sleep with a gun under your pillow, but no one listens to me when I tell them.” The small girl shrugged and shook her head. “The grown-ups all know better than a eleven year old kid.”   
  
“Well… I’m not a grown up, and I think you’re right,” he ventured in response. An attempt both to apologize further and to get in someone’s good graces.   
  
The wanna-be cowboy scooted to the side of his bed where his nightstand sat. He pulled open the white plastic drawer easily and dropped the gun inside. As he did so, Fareeha got a good look at the tattoo on his left forearm, just below the bend of his elbow. A large skull-and-guns that took up a considerable chunk of the section of skin. Between the crossed guns and the skull’s mouth was a closed padlock. Fareeha shook her head, opting not to mention it.   
  
“Good. Women are always right, you know,” she said instead with a smirk, placing her hands on her hips in victory.   
  
Jesse couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Typical girl. He thought of how his mother used to always say the same thing. How she could always tell when he was doing something he ought not to be, and how she always had a “told you so” on the tip of her tongue. He remembered her light brown hair and her honeyed eyes. The warmth of her hugs, and the taste of her cooking; her arroz rojo specifically. He lamented not getting any recipes before he disappeared on her just like his father had. For the millionth time in years, he found himself missing his mother more than he ever thought he would. But he was sure she wasn’t missing him back.   
  
“What’s yer name, sweetheart?,” he asked, diverting his train of thought. “I’m Jesse.”   
  
“Fareeha,” she responded, smiling. Now that they were acquainted, she saw no issue in going over to sit beside him on the bed. It was, after all, the only available piece of furniture to sit on in the room barring a white plastic chair in the corner that held a light armored chestpiece. Leaning back on the heels of her palms, she looked up at the ceiling.   
  
A comfortable silence filled the room between the two. Jesse looked down at the apple in his hands and took a tentative bite. All at once the hunger he’d accrued over the past three days hit him like a brick. He decided that part of the emptiness he was feeling had been in his stomach and seemingly inhaled the apple. Fareeha looked over with a smile but otherwise pretended not to notice.   
  
“Your room is so bland,” she decided, gesturing widely across the walls. “You should put up some pictures or something. Now that you’re a member of the team, your room is yours to customize as you see fit! I mean, you gotta buy it all yourself, so you’ll need to wait until you start making some money here, but my mom did my room for me and it’s really cute it’s filled with birds! I’ve got em hanging from the ceiling and on my bedsheets and on my dresser and…”   
  
Jesse let her voice fade out while he looked around his room. Bare grey walls with a single colored trim to match the hallways surrounded him. The boxspring of his bed was made of metal, and his sheets were a light, calming purple that was probably meant to help induce sleep. Beside his bed was a white plastic end table with a single drawer. Across the room was an empty closet whose door matched the walls, and to the right was a dresser. Same white plastic as the end table, and filled (though you couldn’t call it full) with two changes of clothes for him. In the corner was the occupied-by-armor white chair.   
  
“Maybe I will.” A pause. “Your room sounds adorable,” he added, though he hadn’t heard her whole spiel.   
  
Unfortunately, Jesse realized he had no pictures. Not of friends, not of him, not of his mother, and not of Keith. His life was just as empty as he was. It felt almost as if before agreeing to join Blackwatch, he hadn’t existed. The teen felt guilt, anger, and resentment sink his heart to his ribs. He looked down at his hands as he fidgeted with his fingers absent-mindedly. He didn’t want to forget what Keith looked like. He didn’t want the only image he remembered of his best friend to be one of death.   
  
“Why are you in here by yourself with the lights off anyway?” The question pulled him from his morbid thoughts and Jesse noticed a hand on his upper arm. The question itself was asked softly, more than just a hint of concern in Fareeha’s voice and expression. It was for that reason that Jesse decided to respond truthfully, but with a decided lack in detail considering her age.   
  
“I… just lost a friend. I’m angry right now. Wouldn’t be good t’anyone outside this room.” Jesse looked down at the apple core in his hands with a half frown; who knew he’d feel a kinship with the browning remains of a fruit’s corpse?   
  
“Oh, is that all?,” she scoffed. “That’s nothing compared to some of the other people here.”   
  
The teen couldn’t believe what he was hearing. How dare she sweep aside his loss like it was nothing? Like he wasn’t feeling the worst he had in almost his entire life, like he didn’t have constant nightmares and reminders? Jesse could feel his ears heating up; he didn’t need to hear this crap from some kid. Keith’s life, their friendship, reliving the loss over and over… it wasn’t nothing, dammit!   
  
With a heated glare, he looked down at her. He’d been about to kick her out of his room when he saw the unadulterated emotion on her face: a blank, melancholic expression directed at the cold tile floor. Her hands were balled up together tightly in her lap. She looked like he knew he did when he dwelled or got lost in the pain. With a resigned sigh, he calmed himself down and put an arm around her shoulders, bringing her back from wherever she’d been.   
  
“My dad was kidnapped after I was born and I see my mom suffer for it every day,” she started, voice brittle. “Uncle Gabe and Jack’s entire platoon was killed. Angela lost her parents in the war.”   
  
“I don’t think that’s stuff you should be spreadin’ round,” Jesse frowned. “It’s for other people to tell.” He knew for certain that he hated when people talked about him behind his back, and so he believed that unless you’ve been given the okay or you’re saying it to their face, you keep your mouth shut. It was only fair to afford people the same treatment you wanted yourself.   
  
Fareeha sniffled and exhaled a breath. Her short moment of vulnerability was over. “We all had stuff we have to get over; everyone knows. It’s not hard when you have people to help though. I had my mommy, Uncle Gabe and Jack had each other, and Angela was adopted by Torbjorn.” The young girl turned to the side to look up at Jesse. Delicately, she moved some of his hair away from his face like her mother often did for her.” I can help you with yours,” she offered. “Everyone needs family.”   
  
He had come here and ignored everyone for days now, and yet here was this girl who had just met him and who already showed such care, such wisdom for her age. Had they spoken on the phone rather than face to face, Jesse might have guessed her to be years older than she truly was. The teen felt a little humbled by it all.   
  
“... if you help me with homework and stuff.”   
  
Or not. Jesse didn’t even bother fighting the urge to roll his eyes, though a smile accompanied the action. He reached up to ruffle her hair playfully; the messier the better. In some ways, he mused to himself, kids would be kids regardless of the hand they’d been dealt in life. “I never really stuck around in school myself, kid. Sorry.”   
  
Fareeha shrugged, shaking her head. “Boo. Well whatever, I’m hungry. Take me to the kitchen, cowboy.”   
  
\---   
  
  
Walking into the kitchen, Gabe was greeted with a shocking yet pleasant sight. Fareeha was sitting atop Jesse’s shoulders as he moved around the kitchen looking for things to feed her with. She had her forearms on his head to keep her back straight and his cowboy hat sitting neatly on her head though it was obviously a bit big for her. But she only giggled from under the rim of it, smile bright and warm. Jesse had a slice of buttered toast hanging out of his mouth, one hand rifling through the cupboards, and one had gripping onto one of the ankles dangling over his chest to keep Fareeha steady.   
  
“Well now, this isn’t something I was expecting to see on my quest for coffee,” Gabe chuckled, gesturing at the pair with a hand.   
  
Fareeha’s head turned quickly to look at him with the biggest smile he’d seen on her all week. “Uncle Gabe! You told me we had a new member,” she started, burying her fingers in Jesse’s hair, “but you didn’t tell me I’d pretty much be getting an older brother!”   
  
Jesse wasn’t expecting the warmth that he felt filling his chest. Nor could he stop the watery smile that formed around the corner of toast in his mouth. He didn’t say anything for fear of the floor stealing his lunch, but he redoubled his efforts to find something she’d like. Cereal, crackers, canned ham, whatever. Gabe gave him a knowing look; no one could resist Fareeha’s adorable charm. He himself had fallen victim to it on may occasions.   
  
“There’s cereal in the long cupboard by the garbage bin,” he offered. “But don’t take too much, Fareeha. You know you’re not supposed to eat between set times. Group meals and rationing are important.”   
  
“Oh. Sorry.” Jesse removed his hand to scratch the scruff of his neck sheepishly. He hadn’t actually wanted to get into trouble on his first walk outside his room.   
  
“You didn’t know, so it’s okay, but Fareeha should know better.” Gabriel gave her a pointed look, one eyebrow arched for emphasis. “Don’t be a bad influence.”   
  
“He hasn’t eaten in three days, Uncle Gabe,” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the most exaggerated fashion, her tone taking on a dramatic flair. “Have some _decency_ !”   
  
“Supper’s in two hours,” he deadpanned. Though he loved the girl, her mother had warned him to stop encouraging her being a drama queen. Gabriel feared the walls had eyes.   
  
“...okay, fine, so I’m a bad influence,” Fareeha relented. “But now I have a partner in crime! Right, partner?”   
  
Jesse chuckled nervously. He was glad the older man couldn’t see the empty bag of toast in the closed garbage bin. “Uh, yeah. Sure. Right-o, partner.”   
  
The teen crouched by the counter to lower Fareeha onto it. Padding back to the cupboard, he grabbed the Omnium Z cereal ( _shaped like nuts and bolts with marshmallow wrenches!_ , the box boasted), some milk from the fridge, and a bowl from the cupboard above the stove. After setting them on the table neatly, he grabbed a spoon and placed it into the bowl carefully, so it wouldn’t make too much noise. He sat down at the table and gestured to his set up, looking at Fareeha. “I ain’t gonna pour your cereal for you, sugar.”   
  
Meanwhile, Gabriel poured some coffee into a solid black mug and sat at the table quietly. He took his coffee the same color as his mug and clothes. He eyed the teen carefully, silently sizing him up. So far, bringing him in didn’t seem like it was going to be a problem. Though he’d been bed-ridden for a few days, he seemed fine now. Soon Gabe would be able to train him up proper and take him on missions. Once he had a shower, anyway. He was also kind to Fareeha, which showed compassion, and took care of her almost like it was practiced.   
  
_“Ma, come on. You gotta eat somethin’,” pleaded a six year old Jesse. His mother currently sat slumped on the kitchen floor, staring down at her feet. The cool air from outside gusted in through gaps in the windows. She’d been unresponsive since his pa left on a trip yesterday (why else would he have packed a suitcase?), but Jesse didn’t entirely understand why. She’d also smelled funny, and kinda bad. There’d been screaming the night before, but to the young boy, that was par for the course. He just hoped the man came back for Christmas; the tree was already up, but his pa was always the one to mount the angel at the top._   
  
_Sighing but looking determined, he set about getting her some food. He had to climb on the counters to reach the bowls, but he knew that if there was food on the table, his mother would eat it. Jesse knew how much she hated waste. He pulled some Farm Friends cereal from the cupboard, and the skim milk from the fridge, setting them both on the table. When he dropped the spoon into the bowl, it clattered loudly._   
  
_“Jesse,” his mother hissed in complaint, bringing a hand up to her forehead._   
  
_“Sorry, ma,” he sniffed, filling the bowl with his sugary cereal. He poured the milk afterwards, and set the carton beside the bowl and box in case she wanted more when she was done. Finished and proud of his work, he walked over to his mother and took her free hand in his, pulling just enough to let her know he was there for her. “I poured you some cereal.”_   
  
_Finally she stood, looking down at him with an expression he couldn’t quite place. She took her hand back. “Estúpido. Pouring the cereal before anyone even sits will make it get soggy.”_   
  
_“Sorry, ma,” he said again. But he backed away a couple of steps and watched as she sat down at the table. She rearranged everything. The carton of milk to the right, facing her, behind the bowl. Box behind the bowl to the left, with the back of it facing her so she could read the trivia._   
  
_His mother took a couple of bites, sighed, and set the spoon down. “Gracias, sweet boy. I’m sorry.”_   
  
_Jesse beamed with pride. He’d do it better next time for sure._   
  
“After I eat, you’re gonna show me some shooting, right?,” Fareeha asked, jumping off the counter and skipping to her seat. “If you sleep with a gun you gotta be good with it. Reflexes are definitely good if you can pull it on me the second I walk into your room.”   
  
“You pulled a gun on her.” It wasn’t a question. Gabe looked over at Jesse with a stern gaze, and the wanna-be cowboy knew he wasn’t playing around.   
  
The teen looked like a deer in headlights. “I didn’t shoot it or anything! She just- she snuck in and I-... well I, uh…” He trailed off as he studied the man sitting across from him. Narrowed eyes, expressionless mouth, all motion halted and waiting. Though he was sitting, he seemed like an impenetrable tower; nothing could break through those defenses. Jesse could tell that with Gabe around, no one would ever dare hurt the young girl. They’d live to regret it if they did. He sighed; there was no excuse anyway. “Sorry, sir.”   
  
Despite the context, Gabe was still surprised that Jesse seemed truly sorry. He had almost expected a complete retort. But this didn’t seem like the same kid who’d spat blood in Marcus’ face after being being completely beat down. This Jesse seemed a little less like an untamed beast and a little more like an actual person.   
  
“You remember where the shooting range is?,” he asked, never opposed to the idea of practice. Ana hadn’t wanted her precious child around guns, but the dark-skinned man knew it was a sound, a feeling, and a smell the teen would have to get used to again. Guns were a part of the job whether he liked it or not.   
  
“Yes, sir.” Not really, but Jesse was sure Fareeha would know where it was.   
  
“Don’t forget to be here in a couple hours for supper,” was all that was said in response as Gabriel returned to his coffee and a newspaper that had been at the table.   
  
The three fell into silence as Fareeha ate her cereal. The teen was the only one who felt an awkward tension.   
  
\---   
  
Fareeha pulled him eagerly down the hall past the barracks. It comprised of only fifteen rooms, but she informed him that the lower floors contained a couple of large rooms that housed lesser operatives who came in only when they needed numbers. The rooms up here were for people who actually lived at headquarters for months at a time or more.   
  
The topic soon shifted to her excitement at being able to watch him shoot, wondering if maybe one day he might teach her. Though admittedly, even if her mom was teaching her martial arts, Jesse learned that she didn’t want this kind of life for her daughter. But Fareeha was determined to become just like her heroes if the world needed her. Though of course if she had the choice, she wanted to grow up to be an actress.   
  
Jesse began to tune her out when he noticed Marcus down the hall, leaning casually against the wall and eyeing them from afar, knowing they had to walk past him to get where they were going. The self-righteous look in his eyes as they approached made the teen want to double back and avoid the firing range altogether. The skip in Fareeha’s step was what made him keep going.   
  
Refusing to lower his gaze, Jesse looked ahead confidently as he made to walk past the guy. Back straight, posture composed. He wouldn’t be submissive. He wouldn’t give the other the satisfaction. The teen had his pride, after all.   
  
He didn’t need a fortune teller to predict that Marcus was going to stop him. And so it was no surprise when the other man planted a hand firmly on his shoulder and pushed him back, causing Fareeha to collide back onto his chest. “I told you I wasn’t done with you,” Marcus sneered.   
  
As much as he expected it, Jesse could feel his vision going red. This would be the perfect opportunity to at least beat him to a pulp. He could crack the guy’s nose and no one would be the wiser. He could break his jaw, he could gouge his eyes. The bland grey hallways and their blue trim fell away behind the two men as they stared at each other, unmoving for almost a minute; one with a cruel grin, the other a cautious scowl. The teen flexed the fingers of his right hand hard, cracking his knuckles in the process, and the other tightened around Fareeha’s. The anger stuck fast in his throat, keeping him from speaking. The brim of his hat hid the silent, murderous look in his eyes. He’d been about to wind back and throw a punch to quel his boiling blood when a small voice and a squeeze of his hand stopped him in his tracks.   
  
“Jesse..?” He heard fear in the call of his name. The wanna-be cowboy took a deep breath and forced himself to take stock of his surroundings. It was dizzying to come out of tunnel vision, but the disorientation was worth alleviating Fareeha’s discomfort. The man in front of him was trying to provoke him into making the first move. His body language gave him away: hunched forward, muscles braced for impact, and he looked down on Jesse with expectantly raised eyebrows. Tightening his grip on Fareeha’s hand ever so slightly, he used it to direct her behind himself. Just in case he decided to take the bait.   
  
“What’s wrong, cowboy? Bull got your tongue?” Marcus shrugged, raising his hands with a smirk. He took a step back to let them continue on their way. Something was off in the way he was moving, but Jesse couldn’t place what. It was too… passive, at least for someone who had beaten him practically on sight. “That’s okay. Once a criminal, always a criminal.”   
  
Jesse was about to retort, but Marcus continued before he could get a word out. That only made him more upset. “Soon enough, everyone will realize that you can’t be trusted.” The teen seethed, his hands shaking in anger. Marcus was lucky that they weren’t allowed to carry weapons in the hall. Jesse suspected that Marcus did anyway, the hypocrite. How on earth could this man have the nerve to call him a criminal when he was the one attacking and provoking a minor in the company of a child?   
  
Before he could respond, another interruption; this time, one he was glad for. The small girl behind him let go of his hand and moved herself in front of Jesse once more, arms spread wide. In her eyes was a fire that shone brighter than the golden beads in her hair. “I trust him. And you need to back off. We’re busy.” After glaring at Marcus for a good five seconds, Fareeha promptly took Jesse’s hand back and continued to pull him towards the shooting range.   
  
Marcus snickered, hiding his grin behind his hand. “Hn. Didn’t expect you to need a little girl to fight your battles for you.”   
  
The teen rolled his eyes, but the gesture caused him to miss how Marcus had outstretched his leg slightly, catching Jesse’s as he walked back, causing him to tumble just a little. A growl found it’s way up his throat, but he only continued to follow the young girl in front of him. He’d deal with him later, when they were alone. Marcus laughed at his retreating back.   
  
\---   
  
As much as Jesse hated the outcome of what guns did, he had to admit, firing bullets into a target that moved from side to side calmed him immensely. It was something he could concentrate on, allowing the world around him to melt away. He imagined the target was Marcus and it made the exercise all the better. He’d even forgotten Fareeha was there.   
  
Though impressed, the girl eventually got bored and left of her own accord. Jesse hadn’t noticed. He only just kept emptying clip after clip into the target, each time forcing himself to do it faster and faster. Marcus had to pay; he was going to. He detested the man for what he did. He detested himself for having put his friend in the bar. In that moment, he detested even Keith for not being more forceful about leaving. Hatred and anger roiled his blood and made his head pulse. His breathing became heavy and soon he felt like the target was moving slower than before, making it easier to hit. Curiously, it only lasted a moment. But when it was over, the single target was filled with a plethora of holes that weren’t there just a second ago, and Jesse felt exhausted. He felt his arms fall to his side, and the spent gun clattered to the floor beside him.   
  
But as he stared at the plank of wood, he realized the target was Keith. Bullets rang in his ears though none were being fired. The teen’s head pounded in pain and he felt his eyes roll back just a little and with his legs quivering, he fell to his knees.   
  
“Jesse,” whispered the apparition, suddenly in front of him. It was covered in blood and stared at him with dead, white eyes. Keith took a step forward, hand outstretched and his torso riddled with gaping bloody holes. Holes that Jesse had put there.   
  
“It’s your fault.” It put its hand on his hair. It was cold, nails dug into his scalp. Jesse let loose a strained whimper.   
  
“Why did you make me stay?,” it asked, cocking its head unnaturally to the side. The forced angle brought forth the sickening sound of snapping bone. Keith’s arm dropped, and so did Jesse’s stomach.   
  
The strangled sobs that left Jesse’s mouth turned to wails and his arms shook. The nails dug deeper and his head pounded harder, the sound of gunfire reverberating in his skull. “Stop it, please!” He threw himself forward at Keith’s feet, hair sweeping the floor as he rocked his upper body. “Stop… stop.” When there was no response, he looked up. The only thing with him in the room was the target he’d shot up and everything was just as it had been.   
  
Completely spooked, his blood running cold and with a nervous sweat, Jesse gathered himself quickly up off the floor and fled the room.   
  
Outside, he barreled into Angela, who’d been making her way down the hall. They both fell flat on their rears. She’d been about to chastise him before she took in his appearance: puffy red eyes, shaky hands, eyes that seemed to look right through her, ragged breath, and mouth open in what she could only describe as a mix between fear and anguish.   
  
Standing up, she pulled him to his feet as well. “Hey, what happened? Are you alright?” He didn’t say a word in response, only kept looking straight ahead. “O-okay…” she continued warily. “Come on, let’s get you to the bathroom. We’ll clean you up and get you to supper, alright?”   
  
As she led him to the nearest lavatory, Jesse tried his hardest to process and repress.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again: huge, huge thanks to my beta, Maili. <3 You keep me goin' girl.
> 
> Other than that, I don't got much else to say, haha.


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